untoward, under the slim chance that something does go wrong, we need someone with his experience and expertise at hand when we import our scientist for a quick study of the device before destroying it,” Bernard said grimly, looking down at the toes of his boots. He looked up and caught his superior’s eye with a flat look of frustration. “I certainly didn’t tell him the truth, if that’s what you fear.”
“And what is the truth?” the blunt-featured fellow asked quietly.
“That we need him because in order to catch a big shark you have to use big bait. What bigger bait than one of our best agents? Damn it all!” Bernard pummeled his fist into his open palm in uncharacteristic ire. “I don’t like having leaked a rumor about Powell’s identity without giving him any warning. He’s too good a man to throw to the wolves this way.”
“You’ve done what you had to do,” the blunt-featured man answered. “If you’d warned Powell that we were setting a trap at the abbey, he wouldn’t have agreed to the plan. He would never place innocent people at such risk. This girl, Lady Evelyn, the wedding guests . . . he would think there too much potential danger to innocent bystanders. It’s why we’ve never made as good a use of him as we might have; he lives by his own code, not ours.”
He was right. Powell was notorious for making his own rules, and there was no room for improvisation in this game.
It had taken months to set up this house of cards, months to plot a way to lure the secret agent into revealing himself before he could identify the Agency’s own master spy, a spy who, according to all their information, this enemy spy was in close association with, even if he had yet to realize it.
So, in order to lure him into revealing himself they’d offered a substitute—an agent high up in the echelons but who, because of his unfortunate conscience, was growing more and more intractable.
They’d made up a story about a history-altering device, leaked the rumor that this top field agent would be receiving it, and trusted that the enemy spy would not be able to resist the combination of two such powerful enticements.
“You weren’t too subtle about Powell, were you? This man
will
realize that he needs only follow the device to its destination to discover Powell’s identity?”
Bernard shook his head. He was getting too old for this. Sentimentality had crept into his reasoning. He did not want Powell hurt. “I think it will work.”
“It has to work,” the other man said in a low fervent voice. “We cannot lose.”
Bernard had always known his superior’s interest was not wholly indifferent. Still, he was surprised by the passion in his voice.
“Powell inadvertently gave me an idea of how we might chum the waters further. Just in case the rumors we let slip
were
too subtle.”
“How?”
“Lady Evelyn. She might serve in that capacity, too.”
“Oh?” The man mused again. It was one of the reasons he was so good at what he did. He never pressed. He simply waited.
Bernard told him.
Ten minutes later their meeting was at an end. The rough-looking man whistled his little terrier in from the fog and bent to clip his leash back on. He straightened. “We have no concerns about Powell’s loyalty?”
“That, at least, is unquestionable and absolute,” Bernard assured him. “If he does suspect something is amiss, he will still do his duty. It just might not be in a manner we foresee.”
“Then make sure he doesn’t suspect, Bernard. We can’t take any chances.”
“But Powell can.” Bernard regretted the words as soon as he spoke them.
“Well, yes.” The man turned and the little dog fell into step beside him as they walked past where Bernard still sat, staring out at the river. “That’s what he’s always done.”
Chapter 5
“WE HAVE EVERY confidence in your good sense, dear. But are you certain a chaperon wouldn’t be a good idea?” Francesca, Marchioness
“And what is the truth?” the blunt-featured fellow asked quietly.
“That we need him because in order to catch a big shark you have to use big bait. What bigger bait than one of our best agents? Damn it all!” Bernard pummeled his fist into his open palm in uncharacteristic ire. “I don’t like having leaked a rumor about Powell’s identity without giving him any warning. He’s too good a man to throw to the wolves this way.”
“You’ve done what you had to do,” the blunt-featured man answered. “If you’d warned Powell that we were setting a trap at the abbey, he wouldn’t have agreed to the plan. He would never place innocent people at such risk. This girl, Lady Evelyn, the wedding guests . . . he would think there too much potential danger to innocent bystanders. It’s why we’ve never made as good a use of him as we might have; he lives by his own code, not ours.”
He was right. Powell was notorious for making his own rules, and there was no room for improvisation in this game.
It had taken months to set up this house of cards, months to plot a way to lure the secret agent into revealing himself before he could identify the Agency’s own master spy, a spy who, according to all their information, this enemy spy was in close association with, even if he had yet to realize it.
So, in order to lure him into revealing himself they’d offered a substitute—an agent high up in the echelons but who, because of his unfortunate conscience, was growing more and more intractable.
They’d made up a story about a history-altering device, leaked the rumor that this top field agent would be receiving it, and trusted that the enemy spy would not be able to resist the combination of two such powerful enticements.
“You weren’t too subtle about Powell, were you? This man
will
realize that he needs only follow the device to its destination to discover Powell’s identity?”
Bernard shook his head. He was getting too old for this. Sentimentality had crept into his reasoning. He did not want Powell hurt. “I think it will work.”
“It has to work,” the other man said in a low fervent voice. “We cannot lose.”
Bernard had always known his superior’s interest was not wholly indifferent. Still, he was surprised by the passion in his voice.
“Powell inadvertently gave me an idea of how we might chum the waters further. Just in case the rumors we let slip
were
too subtle.”
“How?”
“Lady Evelyn. She might serve in that capacity, too.”
“Oh?” The man mused again. It was one of the reasons he was so good at what he did. He never pressed. He simply waited.
Bernard told him.
Ten minutes later their meeting was at an end. The rough-looking man whistled his little terrier in from the fog and bent to clip his leash back on. He straightened. “We have no concerns about Powell’s loyalty?”
“That, at least, is unquestionable and absolute,” Bernard assured him. “If he does suspect something is amiss, he will still do his duty. It just might not be in a manner we foresee.”
“Then make sure he doesn’t suspect, Bernard. We can’t take any chances.”
“But Powell can.” Bernard regretted the words as soon as he spoke them.
“Well, yes.” The man turned and the little dog fell into step beside him as they walked past where Bernard still sat, staring out at the river. “That’s what he’s always done.”
Chapter 5
“WE HAVE EVERY confidence in your good sense, dear. But are you certain a chaperon wouldn’t be a good idea?” Francesca, Marchioness
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